


New Constellations

by OccasionalArtist



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (character death is off screen we only see characters reaction to the news), ATLA Big Bang, ATLA Big Bang 2020, Anxiety Attacks, Character Death, Constellations, Gen, Mythology - Freeform, Overcoming Fear, Panic Attacks, Pre-Canon, WARNINGS:, Zuko's Scar (Avatar), between the lines of canon, dissociation due to grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27397957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionalArtist/pseuds/OccasionalArtist
Summary: "Every star in the sky is another sun somewhere out there, farther away than we could ever imagine."When Zuko is banished from the Fire Nation, he leaves with a ship, an impossible task, and a newfound fear of his own element.  As he's offered the chance to learn navigation by the stars and the myths that weave constellations into the sky, he has a chance too, to learn how to appreciate fire once more and how to look at the world in a different light.
Relationships: Zuko & Iroh, Zuko & Oc, Zuko & Zuko's Crew (Avatar)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 97
Collections: ATLA Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to Cianidix and [her amazing artwork](https://cianidix.tumblr.com/post/633932534187786240/hey-everyone-heres-my-part-ror-the-atla-bigbang), vandrell for cheer reading, and aiyah, constellayetion, and burnt_oranges for their hard work betaing!!
> 
> Written for the ATLA 2020 big bang!! Mythology is such a fascinating subject, in the ways that we seek to explain why our world came to be how it is, or why things work the way they are, through story and characters that feel and look like us. I've played before with constructing myths, and hope I've been able to do some justice to creating a few Fire Nation myths!

Three weeks out from the Western Air Temple, twenty one days of sailing away from the islands that Zuko had always called home, he woke in a cold sweat. This wasn’t a rare occurrence these days. These nights when he’d jolt awake in his hard metal ship’s cabin, face aching, feeling like he was tearing apart at the seams from dreams of Father’s hands, of Azula’s pleased laughter as she had watched Father read the proclamation of his banishment.

Zuko had gotten used to turning toward the wall and curling into himself, where he would tremble either until he dropped back into a fitful, exhausted sleep, or the rising sun would beat him to it. Tonight something extra roiled in his stomach; maybe the fish they had eaten for dinner wasn’t agreeing with him. He levered himself out of bed and stumbled toward the door. A turn of the crank, and he was out into the dark hallway. There were no windows here to cast light on his unsteady steps, and so he continued until he hit the wall, slumped into it, and turned right. 

_ Why don’t you make a light for yourself, firebender? _ The voice in his head sounded a lot like Father, and was just as demanding, just as disappointed. His stomach gave another unsteady lurch, and he had to stop for a moment and hunch over in the corridor as he fought for control over his breath. Finally, Zuko moved forward again, shuffling along with his shoulder to the wall until he came to the doorway out onto deck.

The door swinging forward was a visceral relief, as the cool night air hit his face. Zuko slipped out and let it shut quietly behind him. He didn’t even spare a thought for if any of the crew might be watching as he dashed to lean over the railing near the prow. Here the wind chilled the sweat that had collected at the edges of his bandage, and his stomach finally settled as he breathed in the scent of salt air slowly.

He felt better out here in the cool and the dark, where no one could look at him, or if they did, where he couldn’t see the looks on their faces. The stars trailed thick and bright down to the horizon to meet the water, broken here and there by the dark shape of a cloud. This was better. Looking at the stars didn’t hurt.

_ Wanting to be beneath the night sky, firebender? When your fire is at its lowest? Disgraceful _ .

There was a flash of cloying heat through his core as he started to tremble. It started in his lungs and spread outward, his breath came raggedly with no chance of control this time. That was right, wasn’t it - Zuko was a disgrace as a prince, a son, a firebender. Disgraced dishonored no fire no home no hope. He clung to the rail as he slipped down to his knees. He pressed the right side of his forehead to the metal, feeling the cold from the point of contact, and the pulsing pain as his skin stretched.

The waves washed against the metal of the hull, the stars wheeled overhead, and some time later Uncle came to gather him up and bring him back to his cabin. He didn’t even have the energy to answer Uncle’s questions, much less yell at the crew members who had undoubtedly alerted him.

He could still see the window from his bed, and the stars beyond. Uncle stayed with him, a hand over his as he sat beside him in silence as the stars slowly faded into dawn, and Zuko finally dropped off to sleep

Zuko lost a few days to fever after the incident on deck, as his already strained and healing body was overwhelmed. Only another week later, Uncle looked up at him over breakfast and suggested, “Prince Zuko, I believe it may be time to resume your fire bending training.” He ran hot and cold all over again, but did his best to keep it off his face. He knew,  _ he knew _ , that he was supposed to be able to do this. If he didn’t he was a failure.

If nothing else though, perhaps he could delay. “I don’t think I should be firebendending with a big wad of flammable bandaging on my  _ face _ .”

“I never knew you to be quite so concerned with safety nephew,” Iroh mused, with an expression that was far too knowing for Zuko’s liking. He continued, “No matter, I agree that it might be too soon to run katas or practice sparing. We will start with meditation.”

There was no good excuse Zuko could think of in response to that. He managed a small nod, and then tuned out the rest as Uncle began to go on about needing a strong foundation in the basics.

Later that same day he found himself sitting across from Uncle in his quarters, posture ramrod straight like all his previous teachers had insisted on, hoping the tension in his back would prevent him from flinching. He had to do this.

“I believe it will be best to return to the very basics. For both you and me; it’s been some time since we practiced together,” Uncle spoke softly, already readying himself for meditation.

Zuko tried to think about the last time he meditated with Uncle Iroh. It must have been before Uncle left for Ba Sing Se, when Zuko was just learning to meditate to a flame for the first time. By the time he had returned, Zuko had been expected to have the skill and discipline to manage his own daily meditation. The memory was still there, though, of the first time – together they sat cross-legged on the floor in a sitting room on the ground floor of the palace. The doors were thrown open wide and the summer’s heat and the sound of whirring cicadas drifted on the wind. Uncle had told him to feel the warmth on his skin, to hear the rhythms of the world around them but let them flow away. Then he had held up a small flame in his hands and asked Zuko to breathe to its rise and fall –

Uncle’s next words drew him back to the present, “I would like you to make the flame, and I will walk us through a basic sequence.”

As he remembered, Zuko had forgotten to maintain the tension in his back. So he was unprepared to catch himself as his eye widened and mouth contorted into a grimace. “I’m not a child, Uncle. I can meditate without your guidance,” he said with more vitriol than he truly intended.

Uncle Iroh didn’t rise to the bait, only held out a hand in an ‘after you’ gesture.

Zuko cupped his palms together, pressing the sides of his hands together tightly to stop them from shaking. He couldn’t tell Uncle that he couldn’t do this, but it wasn’t as if it mattered; he would see for himself.  _ How can you call yourself worthy to be a Prince of the Fire Nation _ the voice in his head that sounded like Father sneered, and the rest of him could hardly help but agree. It was as if every time he thought about his inner fire, about producing a flame –  _ just a small one Zuko can you not even do that? _ – his mind skittered away, blank and unable to hold onto the intention. The space above his palms remained cold and empty.

Finally Iroh let out a mighty sigh. Zuko dropped his hands and looked up to see a frown on Uncle’s face. “For today we will change places, then.” He lifted a hand and a small fire flicked into existence, no larger than a candle flame and so tightly controlled that it barely wavered.

It didn’t matter.

Zuko felt heat roar from his head and down his arms, down through his stomach. It was a sickly, scalding kind of heat that left tremors in its wake and tightened his lungs in its grasp. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled backwards, not stopping until he hit the metal wall of the cabin. It was cold and hard against his back, comforting and terrifying in equal measure; there was nowhere else he could go. The rest of his senses caught up with his rabbiroo-quick heartbeat, and he focused immediately on Uncle’s face, searching for his reaction. 

Uncle had put out the flame, and at first only looked shocked. Then his expression contorted into worry – and why wouldn’t it? A crowned prince who wouldn’t bend, who tried to run from his element? But there was no anger. Zuko watched and waited silently, waiting for the anger, but it never came.

Uncle Iroh broke the silence first. “Prince Zuko, we need to talk about this.”

Zuko’s heart sped up again, and his limbs tensed to back away further, but he was out of space. Instead he shook his head vehemently, before catching himself and snapping, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I believe that there is.”

He screwed his face up into the most impressive glare he could manage with only one eye and leveled it at Uncle Iroh, willing him to back down. Uncle failed to look intimidated or impressed, only shifted slightly to make himself more comfortable.

There was a lump forming in Zuko’s throat. He couldn’t do it,  _ couldn’t _ , couldn’t let the words out that he was afraid and a failure and doomed to never reclaim his honor. If he did they’d be real. He swallowed hard, clenched his jaw until he was sure he wouldn’t start crying, and then tried one last time. “Uncle, please.”

Uncle Iroh sighed, and Zuko couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders slumped as he did. “Alright. Another day then. But, Prince Zuko, when I say  _ another day _ I do mean that. I’ll leave you to collect yourself. But will you join me on deck for tea in a little while?”

There was nothing Zuko could do but give a small, tight nod. He watched as Uncle stood with a groan and a joking mumble about old joints, before he left the room. He watched until the door closed and the latch spun shut, and then sank down the wall and let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

The night after the bandages came off, six weeks away from home, Zuko crept back out onto deck again. This time, he didn’t have any bad dreams as excuse. At least that meant that he felt less frayed at the edges than the last time, if only just. It meant he could dart from the shadows near the door to the catapult platform, and finally out to the railing, hoping no crew would be the wiser to their addition to the night watch.

He settled himself into a cross-legged seat and turned his face up to the sky, a mirror from earlier in the afternoon. He had come out to the deck after Uncle had told him he wouldn’t need to reapply the bandage to his eye. He had wanted to feel the sun on his face, his whole face.

He hadn’t expected it to feel like he was burning again.

The sound of the wind and the waves was barely audible over the rumble of the engine, but he could feel the cool night air on his cheeks and imagine the spray. Even during the daytime, he was accustomed to the breeze off the water cutting the warmth of the sun. He had been unprepared for his healing wound to feel like it was suffused with unbearable heat.

After he had ducked inside, after Uncle had found him and sat quietly with him until his breathing evened out again, the ship’s medic had explained that burn wounds and scars were more susceptible to sunburn than the rest of his skin. That was all, nothing more, it was perfectly normal. Just like the fact that sounds from the left were muffled now and sight badly blurred, creating a dizzying distortion when he tried to use both eyes. Just  _ perfectly normal _ .

Zuko had spent the rest of the afternoon pacing his cabin like a caged tiger-dillo, resenting sunlight for the first time he could remember, and Uncle and the medic for not warning him before he went outside.

But here in the dark it was only coolness, and looking back towards the tower of the ship it wasn’t as if he would be able to make out details with two good eyes anyway. Lately, the night sky had been so much kinder to him. 

Zuko settled his hands on his knees and took a deep breath in and held it for a count of six seconds before letting it back out again. He could still do meditation breathing exercises even if he couldn’t manage a flame. He was only sometimes good at letting thoughts and sensations come and go, but tonight he sank into it with the relief of a moment to just stop thinking.

So much so that he didn’t notice that he had company until the light of a lantern fell on his face.

If asked later, Zuko did not jump, nor did he eye the lantern warily before reminding himself that the fire was contained behind glass. Perfectly safe and separate. The sailor holding the lantern looked really no different from the rest. Standard issue armor, clean shaven face, dark hair in a top knot. Zuko had been told names on his first day, but he didn’t remember any of them. He could blame being delirious with fever and pain, but it sounded like too much effort to make excuses when he just didn’t care.

“Prince Zuko, I didn’t expect to meet you out here,” the sailor said, and gave a reasonably deep bow. He did not shape the flame as he was holding an odd assortment of scrolls and books, a writing kit, and some kind of metal contraption under his arm, in addition to the lantern.

Zuko drew his back up as tall as he could make himself and tilted his chin up in a way that he hoped would appear as if he was looking down his nose at this interloper, despite the fact that he was still sitting in casual robes directly on the metal deck. “State your business, sailor,” he said.

“I am ship’s Navigator Zhu Yan, sir. I am here to confirm our course towards the Northern Air Temple. My apologies if I disturbed you; I did not expect to find anyone else out here.”

Zhu Yan did not leave immediately as Zuko would have preferred, and it took him a moment to realize that the sailor was waiting for either another question or a dismissal. “As you were.”

The man bowed again, and headed for a small table which was set up a short ways away and started unloading the contents of his arms. Zuko considered going back to his meditation but the movement in the left side of his vision kept drawing his attention. He had become unused to seeing anything from that side. Now it was only just too blurred to be able to make out what Zhu Yan was doing through the night’s darkness, but the lantern light flashed off of something on the table as he moved it.

Thoughts of meditation abandoned, Zuko turned his head to see what was catching the light. It was some kind of circular contraption made of metal that Zhu Yan set down before he flipped through several pages of a book on the table. He then wrote something on a scroll before picking up the contraption again to look through it. 

The next time he placed the contraption down, he glanced toward Zuko and called, “I would be happy to answer any questions you have, sir.”

Zuko could feel the heat in his cheeks; he wasn’t supposed to be caught staring like some commoner. His traitor mouth didn’t seem to care, as he blurted out, “Why are you navigating at night?” and then twisted his lips into a tight frown before he could ask anything else.  _ Tsk tsk Zuzu that sounds like a stupid question. _

Zhu Yan seemed to pay no mind as his face lifted into a smile, as if completing a pair of opposing theater masks. “There are several navigational methods approved for use by the Fire Nation Navy,” he began, as if he was reciting a set of instructions verbatim, “I am trained foremost in celestial navigation. I am proficient in navigating by the sun, but I prefer to navigate by the stars.”

A citizen of the Fire Nation who would eschew the sun for the stars? Zuko’s first instinct told him it wasn’t supposed to be like that, and his second reminded him that he had been just the same lately. He looked up at the sky, and felt a sting in his heart that with both eyes open the stars blurred into an indistinct curtain of darkness and faint light. He closed his left eye and breathed out in resignation as the stars condensed back into their own focused points.

“Do you enjoy the stars as well, Prince Zuko?”

Zuko hardly knew how to name his strange mix of feelings on the matter, so he simply nodded. He could tell that Zhu Yan watched him for a few minutes more, waiting for the next question that never came. Eventually, the navigator turned back to his task, and Zuko watched until it seemed like he was engrossed enough to slip away without notice.

Uncle Iroh cornered Zuko over dinner the next evening again. He was starting to get the feeling that he should start taking meals in his own quarters. Currently Uncle was waiting expectantly after saying, “Navigator Zhu Yan said the two of you spoke last night.”

This was a fact. This was not a question. Thus, Zuko didn’t feel bad at all about leveling a stare at Uncle and waiting until he got the hell to his point.

Iroh sighed gustily, disappointed that Zuko hadn’t taken the bait, and said, “He’s offered to teach you navigation if that is something you might have an interest in.”

“Why would I have any interest in learning navigation? I’m here to find and capture the Avatar, not become a naval officer.”

“It does the mind good to pursue different skills, Prince Zuko. After all, the flower that draws no nutrients from the soil will never bloom.”

Zuko groaned and fought the urge to bury his head in his hands. “I don’t particularly care. I’m not interested.”

“I will let Navigator Zhu Yan know that is your decision,” Uncle said, and turned back to his dinner with the kind of nonchalance that left Zuko incredibly suspicious. He set down his chopsticks and waited for the other sandal to drop. Iroh took another bite of fish stew and chewed contentedly before continuing. “Of course, if the Avatar has managed to hide himself for 112 years, I would suspect he has quite mastered the skill.”

This time, Zuko gave into the impulse to smack himself in the face. He immediately bit down on his tongue to hold back a whimper as his still-tender scar protested the rough treatment. “Fine,” he snapped.

“Wonderful!” Uncle exclaimed in that booming voice of his that he liked to use when he got his way. “Zhu Yan has said you can start as soon as this evening if you wish.”

They did not start that night, because this was Zuko’s ship and he was the one who gave the orders of when he wanted things done. They did start the following night, because Uncle had given him a silent disappointed look that morning. 

Several hours after sunset, after most of the crew except the night watch were off duty for the night, Zuko walked out on deck to find that Zhu Yan had already set up at the small table from the last time, but now with the addition of an extra cushion. He stood as he heard Zuko approaching and bowed with a smile. “Prince Zuko, good evening! I’m glad you were interested in learning more about navigation. Shall we sit?”

Zuko nodded his permission and settled at the table, with his new teacher following across from him. There was barely a beat of silence before Zhu Yan began. “To start, we have several tools that are the most commonly used. Of course, we do have our standard maps,” he patted a few piled scrolls, “and then the star chart maps as well.”

The star charts seemed to be in the large bound book that Zuko had noticed the last time they spoke. Despite himself, he was curious about maps of the stars; he’d never seen anything like it before. He scowled at Zhu Yan as he seemed to pick up on his interest and flipped through the book until he found a map. He turned the book in Zuko’s direction and pushed it closer so he could see a page with an inked black circle filled with dots and connecting lines. There was a pull of curiosity in Zuko’s chest that made him want to look up and see if he could see any of the patterns for himself, but he bit his tongue.

“Each map will show the constellations visible in the sky from a given place and a given time of year. They travel across the sky each night like the sun does during the day, but they do move by the seasons as well. The constellations we can see in the fall are different than the ones we can see in the spring, and so forth, which is why the book is quite large.”

Zhu Yan flipped through a few pages, showing the names of places and the times of year they corresponded to. Zuko recognized that the maps had a certain kind of beauty, but each looked so much like the last, and so many of the beautiful things he’d known had proved useless. He didn’t think he was dedicated enough to try to learn the difference between one map and another, when he still had doubts that it would help him find the Avatar. Instead, he pointed to the device which had caught his attention the last time they spoke. It was a brass circle, empty in the center except for four spokes and an arm attached to the center which could spin. “What’s that?”

“That is an astrolabe. With it we can measure the angle of a set of stars to the horizon, and use that to determine our current location and where we need to go. I thought we might leave that for later, though, since it does require some calculations.”

“How would you navigate if not with the tool for it?” Zuko asked, scowling in confusion.

“When in familiar waters, you can navigate by knowing the stars and their place in the sky, without even needing to use astrolabes or mathematics, the same way people have navigated for generations before us. I thought it might be more enjoyable to start there, by learning some of the stars and the constellations they belong to, since I find it easiest to know them by their stories.”

Zuko didn’t understand. The way he had always been told, new instruments and technology was supposed to make a task better, make  _ the Fire Nation _ better. “Those tools must have been invented in the Fire Nation, right?” From everything he’d been taught about other nations, they had nothing remotely advanced enough.

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Then why would you want to use an old outdated method?” Zuko asked, tension building in his voice.

“It’s always worth keeping a good tradition alive, I think. It connects us to our history and our ancestors. I find our myths to be quite an enjoyable tradition, so I like to fall back on them when I can.”

“We made something better, so why would you want to go backwards?” He’d always been taught that the Fire Nation was the smartest, most advanced nation in the world. That it was their duty to bring their greatness, their prosperity, their advancements to everyone else. What did it mean that even their own people chose to still follow old ways?

_ Of course you would ask these questions, it is only fitting for one without honor _ .

Zuko stared at his hands, clenching into fists so tight he could feel his nails digging in to try to ward off the drop in his stomach that the voice in his head always caused. He nearly didn’t hear when Zhu Yan responded.

“I don’t see it as going backwards. I find it valuable to learn both, and to learn the best situations to apply each. Besides, while the astrolabe does provide greater mathematical accuracy, you can see at many ports of call that other sailors are still successful using only the star charts and stories.”

Other sailors. If only the Fire Nation had this technology, Zhu Yan was implying that sailors from other nations could still be equal to them. That couldn’t be true, it  _ couldn’t _ . Zuko leapt to his feet, refusing to follow that thought any further. “Our progress is what makes the Fire Nation great! How can you choose to ignore that? I won’t learn it.” He made sure not to look back at Zhu Yan’s expression as he stormed back to the inside of the ship.

The next time Uncle Iroh decided to press the issue of meditation, he arrived at the door to Zuko’s cabin with an unlit candle and a set of spark rocks. The wash of shame that coursed through Zuko’s body was so intense he thought for a moment that he would be sick. “I don’t need that. Go away!” he shouted.

However, he wasn’t willing to slam the door in Uncle’s face, which left him to watch as Uncle came into the room anyway and set the candle and rocks down on the low table.

“Sit,” Iroh told him in a voice that brokered no argument.

Zuko sat stiffly on his knees, feeling hot and cold all at once at the memory of the last time they had tried.

“As your current firebending master, I don’t believe that is an acceptable answer. Many soldiers who have been wounded in battle have found they needed to begin from the ground up. I have even employed this method in the past with some of them personally.”

“I wasn’t wounded in battle,” Zuko snapped. “I was taught a lesson because I’m a disgrace.”  _ That’s right, you have no claim to anything honorable soldiers do. _

“Regardless of if you were on a battlefield or not, you were done harm by firebending. If you are determined to regain your skills, I would like you to try this.”

Zuko nodded, tight lipped. No matter how much he denied it, he still felt the bite of anxiety as Uncle picked up the spark rocks. It must have shown in his face because Uncle said, “Take a breath, Prince Zuko. This fire won’t be under anyone’s control. The only fuel it has is the candle wick, and it cannot leave that. It cannot hurt you. Say it please.”

“The candle won’t hurt me,” Zuko repeated with as little feeling as possible, scowling at the ridiculous request. He knew that. He had been around candles and lanterns since, it was fine. He did know that, so why was it so hard to feel it?

“It’s a start.” Uncle struck the spark rocks.

Zuko bit the inside of his lip hard as the small flame came into being on the wick. He had still flinched, but at least this time he hadn’t been sent reeling back into the wall.

Uncle’s smile was big, bigger than Zuko felt he deserved. “Very good. I want you to watch the flame as I walk us through the sequence, and we’ll go from there. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, fine.” Zuko readjusted his seat into a relaxed lotus position and took a big breath in, eyes on the natural flicker of the candle flame. “Let’s start.”

Zuko paced up and down the hallway that led to the deck, tense with frustration. Just the same as Uncle Iroh had been willing to hear no argument about meditation practice, he similarly had insisted that he did not give up on learning navigation. Zuko didn’t want to continue. He saw no point in learning from someone who disregarded the greatness of the Fire Nation. That would not help him regain his honor.

He’d told Uncle as much, had thought that was a good argument. Why should he listen to someone so dedicated to something old and outdated, something which should have been left behind? Uncle had only said that meant they needed to reach a compromise. He had also insisted on an apology.

Zuko pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead and tilted his head up towards the ceiling with a groan. He did not want to apologize. Why should he have to apologize for defending the greatness of their nation? It wasn’t his fault the navigator had backwards ideas! But Uncle would be upset with him if he didn’t, so he didn’t have much choice but to push open the door and head out onto the deck where Zhu Yan was seated at his normal table.

Zuko stopped a reasonable distance away, in case Zhu Yan was angry with him, and said, “Lieutenant.”

The man looked up from his work, the expression on his face made unreadable by the light and shadow from the lantern. Zuko couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. He swallowed against the sudden twisting in his stomach and bowed with the flame. “General Iroh has suggested I should apologize for causing you offense and walking out on our lesson,” he said stiffly, words he’d been rehearsing in his head all evening.

“Thank you for your apology, but it is unnecessary Prince Zuko. I’ve been called sentimental by plenty of men before.”

Zuko was sure he had said worse things than ‘sentimental,’ but there had been a small part of him that had worried how Zhu Yan would react, which was now breathing a quiet sigh of relief. He barreled forward, “I’ll keep learning navigation, but only if you teach me the astrolabe and the calculations.”

“That I can do. Would you like to sit?”

“Another night.” He wasn’t sure that he was up for much more. He waited for Zhu Yan to nod his acknowledgement before turning back toward the hold.

He did hold to his word and return the next night, and then a few nights a week after. Zhu Yan was proficient in the new methods, proven as they successfully arrived at the Northern Air Temple, and then turned sights towards the Eastern. The new methods also did prove to be a lot of numbers and memorization. Even without the stories, Zuko still needed to memorize stars and constellations and charts.

Zhu Yan kept to his word about leaving it at that for a few weeks. The first story happened to coincide with when Zuko was struggling to remember a particular constellation. He could never remember the shape of the two triangles that came together at a point, almost like an hourglass, or how to find it in the sky. He had nearly reached the point of giving up looking for it when Zhu Yan began, “When the world was young and spirits roamed the world freely, there was a spirit named Ezi.”

Zuko clenched his jaw against the sudden rush of irritation. Even if he didn’t care about stupid spirit tales, at least if he said nothing it would get him out of searching skies and maps that were starting to blur even in his good eye. He turned a page in the star chart book and did his best to look absorbed in it as Zhu Yan continued.

“Ezi lived beneath the earth and sea; she was the heart of the fires within the world, the heat that gave them life. She watched over the swirling currents of molten stone, yellow like sulfur and orange like the sunset and deep red like a ripe chili pepper. This was her artwork and her design, a dance and an ever-moving painting all in one.

“While Ezi thought her own works of art must be the most beautiful in the world, she still loved the stories she heard from the Earth whenever she drew new pieces of stone into herself and melted them into her grand work. The Earth showed her the shapes of crystals and the outlines of plants and animals that had become marks in stone. It also told her of other spirits, of Air, and especially the Ocean. The Earth said that the Ocean had currents that danced just like hers.

“Ezi was overcome with jealousy and curiosity. How could this Ocean create something comparable to her own work? She begged the Earth for more stories, and it brought them with every new rock that she folded into herself. She learned that the Ocean was so cool to the touch that creatures could live within it, could add colors she had never even known existed. She listened to stories of grand structures of coral, which looked like stone but was a living creature. She learned that the Ocean could even take images and reflect them back on its surface. 

“Soon, Ezi became obsessed with the Ocean, began to dream of things she had only ever known as fleeting shadows or whispered tales. Soon, it was enough that she hardly had attention for her own dance, and she decided she had to see the Ocean for herself. She begged the Earth to help her reach the Ocean, and the Earth drew her to a place where it grew thin and brittle. 

“Ezi sent her currents through the cracks until they met something like she had never felt before. It was nearly freezing, and wet and unknown. She rushed forward to catch a glimpse of where she had finally met the Ocean, but it only lasted a second. As the temperature dropped, she felt all the bits of stone and metal slip from her grasp as her heat could only keep them warm enough to dance for so long. It wasn’t enough. Ezi gathered more currents and pushed further until she touched the water again, looked at the ocean floor for the briefest second. This time, there was movement, a creature she recognized from prints in stone but this was more than just an image, and moved faster and more gracefully than her own currents. 

“Ezi knew then that she couldn’t stop. Every time her warm currents met the cold ones of the Ocean they fell from her grasp, and every time she gathered more to push on for just one more look, for just one more chance to take in a different kind of masterpiece. She kept working, kept moving up through the bits of Earth that solidified into a mountain under the water, until one day there was no more Ocean left around her. Instead, for the first time, she met the air, and there learned that she could look down on the Ocean and its constant dance still. To this day, Ezi still takes advantage of any chance to see more of the Ocean, and any time she finds a place where her currents can dance between, she leaves behind a new kind of artwork.”

“What’s the point of the story then? Why should I care about some spirit that made a volcano however many years ago that’s supposed to be? It’s not relevant to me,” Zuko snapped.

Zhu Yan’s face took on an expression like the owlcat that got the cream. Zuko did not have a good feeling about that look. “Well, I know you are good at finding the Ocean constellation, yes? This story helps us remember that the constellation for Ezi can always be found beneath the Ocean.”

Zuko let out a frustrated growl, stood from the table and left without another word.

They fell into a routine as Zuko’s first summer away from home came to a close. Zhu Yan continued to supervise Zuko as he worked on his measurements and calculations, ready to offer correction or advice. Whenever he felt the silence had stretched too long (a far shorter period than Zuko would consider an unbearable silence), he would point out a new constellation and launch into another wild spirit tale of how men built the first boats from grand turtle shells, how great hunters and warriors had been immortalized in the sky, or how the spirit of justice dispensed her judgements from behind an impartial porcelain mask. Zuko would keep his head in the maps, and when Zhu Yan would look back for his reaction once the story ended, he would resolutely scowl or roll his eyes to remind him that all of this was unworthy of a Fire Nation Prince and the advancement of their civilization. Eventually, Zhu Yan stopped looking, and Zuko stopped having to pretend he hated the tales.

Sometimes, he even enjoyed them.

One evening Zhu Yan began, “Prince Zuko, have you ever heard the tale of how the constellation The Dragon came to be in the sky?”

Zuko looked up from his page of numbers to see Zhu Yan standing near the railing, eyes on the horizon, no doubt looking for the constellation which had prompted the question. “I bet you’re going to tell me.”

“Ah, you know me too well.” Zhu Yan turned around and leaned back on the railing so he could be heard over the waves against the hull of the ship and began, “When the world was young, dragons were tasked with the guardianship of fire, just as the badgermoles were to preside over earth, or sky bison the air. For many generations they kept their elements only to themselves, until there was born a dragon named Druk.

“Druk was a curious and energetic dragon when he was young, always quick to ask questions or think of grand new games. As he grew, his curiosity became cunning and a penchant for trickery. Druk could be counted on to cajole any dragon into giving him the best parts of their hunt, or to sneak away with the best treasures, especially when they didn’t belong to him. He could convince anyone of the wildest, most unlikely stories, and be counted upon to be laughing from an inconspicuous distance whenever there was trouble.

“But if there was one thing that Druk loved more than a good trick, it was humans. He tired easily of dragons, who lived their long lives so slowly. Humans, for all that their lives were simple when the race was young, lived with such urgency and bravery. They had no wings or claws or teeth, but they built tools and took on the most improbable challenges.

“More often than not, Druk watched the humans fail. Although they tried so hard, they were so fragile. Other beasts would stalk them in the dark, they would fall easily to the cold or they would succumb to illness from raw food. So Druk went to the elder dragons and petitioned that they should give some of their fire to humans.

“The council told him that humans were too young and too small to be trusted with such a great responsibility. After all, fire requires control to wield without causing harm, and the elders did not believe the humans would be able to do this. They forbade Druk from giving fire to humans, and warned that the consequences of every trick he’d ever played would come back on him doubled if he disobeyed them.

“Druk went away from the meeting, not defeated but scheming. He thought for weeks, wondering how he could get out from under the watchful eyes of the elders, who had hardly let him out of their sight since. Finally, he came upon the idea for a race. 

“Not only was Druk confident that he was the cleverest dragon, he also believed he was the most nimble too. He proposed the idea, as something to occupy himself with if he could not go to the humans anymore, then spent the next weeks leading up to the race planting a word here or there that the elders had gotten so old and slow. How he doubted they could even get off the ground anymore. If there is one truth about dragons, it is that they are vain, and so just as Druk had planned, every elder was lined up at the start on the day of the race.

“The dragons took to the sky with a mighty roar and rush of wind from their wings. The elders were larger than Druk and he knew they could outfly him in time. So instead he twisted and turned in the air, darting here and there, under and over wings and tails and long dragon bodies, all the while taunting the racers to follow him and beat him if they could. When Druk was finished, all of the other racers had tied themselves into a grand knot of dragons that sunk clumsily to the ground. Druk laughed as he sped across the finish line and beyond, finally free to grant his fire to humans so they could keep themselves safe and warm.

“Between his tricks and cleverness, Druk was able to stay with humans and teach them what he knew of fire. He was amazed at the things they began to create – strong tools and bricks for their homes, delicious food, beautiful glass and pottery. But as with all things, Druk’s luck came to an end. When the dragons found him, they debated what his punishment should be, and decided that he should have to live as far from humans as possible. And such, with the help of the spirits who had first entrusted dragons with fire, Druk was placed as a constellation in the sky. When his judgement was passed down, he only laughed, for this was fit for his last and greatest trick. Although he would be far apart from humans, he could still watch them from the sky for eternity.”

As per their silent agreement, Zhu Yan turned back towards the sea when he was finished with the story, leaving Zuko behind him staring at the constellation and imagining it dancing in the sky. The picture stayed with him all through the rest of the lesson, and in his dreams, he saw dragons shaping metal and glass with their breath. The next morning at meditation practice, Zuko was still absorbed in wishing he could have met the dragons. He hardly noticed that Uncle Iroh had lit the candles with his own fire rather than the spark rocks, until the same moment that he realized he hadn’t flinched away.

By the time autumn had begun to march on towards winter, Zuko was gaining some level of confidence that he could identify most constellations in the sky, could measure them and do the calculations he needed to pinpoint his location on a map. He had also heard more myths than he had thought possible for one person to keep in their head. “Why do you care enough about all of these myths to have them memorized?” he asked one evening, when the sea air was a bit too cold, his eyes straining to focus in the lantern light, and his heart only too aware of how long they’d been far from home.

“Everyone loves a good story!” Zhu Yan looked toward Zuko for confirmation and sighed as he met the corresponding glare. “But, in all seriousness, and if nothing else, this is the one for you to remember.”

“Another story?” Zuko groaned. “Why is the answer to every question another story? You’re just as bad as Uncle with tea or proverbs.”

“I promise it’s less of a story than something to think about. So we know that Agni is the spirit associated with our sun, yes? Well, every star in the sky is another sun somewhere out there, farther away than we could ever imagine. Every one of them is Agni’s brother or sister or sibling. The constellations and their stories are important to me because being under the stars is like being under the light of a thousand suns.” Zhu Yan turned his face up to the sky as if to try to feel the light. “Why wouldn’t we want to find a way to connect ourselves to that?”

Zuko didn’t have an answer, and for once, didn’t have a disparaging comment either. The stars were suns far away? Did this mean that when he liked being under the stars it didn’t mean he was a disgrace as a firebender?

Almost as if he could read his thoughts, Zhu Yan continued, “That’s one of the reasons I love the Fire Nation, and firebending. Since firebending comes from the sun, when we bend we’re also as close as we can be to the stars.”

Zhu Yan fell uncharacteristically silent after that. For the rest of the evening’s practice, hardly another word was spoken. Zuko found himself forgetting his earlier complaints, instead enraptured by the thought of light and heat and fire so far away he could barely see it.

After they packed up and parted for the evening, Zuko returned to his quarters with energy humming in his veins. He sat himself cross legged in front of his meditation candles and took a deep, steadying breath inward. Firebending came from the breath, Uncle always said. And according to Zhu Yan, it also connected them to the sky. How could that be so bad, to hold a piece of a star in his hands?

Zuko let out his breath and drew in a new one, trying to feed his inner fire. It had been so long, he had almost forgotten the pleasant trickle of warmth along the skin of his hands. Another, and he held his palms up in front of him, and watched as a tiny spark bloomed an inch above his skin and grew into a small, but real flickering flame.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, even after Zuko's lost his ship, navigation skills still come in handy. The myths just might come in handy too. After all, there's more than one type of finding your way.

Zuko hated everything about traveling as a fugitive in the Earth Kingdom, and having parted from Uncle made it even worse, although he’d never say it aloud. He hated the plants that were all different from back home and made his head feel like it was full to bursting. He hated that there wasn’t much food to forage for, and wasn’t much left after the winter and the army’s requisitions (stealing) to buy. 

He hated the nights too; they weren’t mild like back home, but downright  _ cold _ . Worst of all, as the landscape grew more arid the further he traveled, and it only got colder at night despite the warm days. While his breath of fire could manage the cold, it left him with a weariness sunk deep into his bones.

Uncle was probably sitting close to a nice, crackling fire, making tea. Hopefully not with anything that could kill him this time, because Zuko just couldn’t always be there to tell him not to drink tea made of strange plants. Unlike Zuko, Uncle Iroh had always been a proper firebender; he’d had no unnatural pull toward the nighttime.

This time, Zuko had little choice. Traveling by the stars was the only way he knew how to navigate in this unknown place. He had no compass or astrolabe, not even charcoal or good paper to write on for his calculations. As much as he hated to admit it, the only thing he had left to his name were Zhu Yan’s stories and a map he had haggled with his last coin like his life depended on it. He hardly even trusted the map.

For days now, Zuko had been heading northwest towards Ba Sing Se, ever since he left Lee’s village. He knew that the Avatar needed to find an earthbending master next, and what better place to find one than the capital city of the Earth Kingdom? Even if Zuko didn’t trust the map completely, the city was so large that, if it was even close to accurate, he wouldn’t miss it.

There was a desert in the way, though, and if Zuko couldn’t find enough provisions to last him the crossing, he’d never make it. He looked up at the sky with a sigh, wishing the constellation stories had some more concrete answers to them, like “what to do when you are a broke, exiled Fire Nation Prince chasing the Avatar with several hundred miles of sand in your way?” Instead of magical solutions written in the stars, he caught sight of the Lion Turtle constellation.

Zuko could almost hear Zhu Yan’s voice in his head telling the story: they were great islands that swam across every sea. They swam until mortals no longer needed them to provide a safe home. Some settled down, growing tired and weary and stony in their old age, and became the first stationary islands. Some, though, were too young and restless, too eager to keep exploring, and those lion turtles swam off the edge of the world and into the sky. 

“The world is round,” Zuko had told him flatly. “There is no edge.” 

Zhu Yan had chuckled, lamented Zuko’s inability to simply enjoy a story, and then said, “The Lion Turtle is a tricky constellation. Be careful when you choose to follow it—it’s been known to lead you where you need to go, but not always where you  _ want _ to go.”

Zuko had scoffed at that, too. While constellations weren’t static, he had learned well that they followed set patterns in the sky, by the night and the month and the season. He knew all the calculations, knew that you could use a map and your instruments to know exactly where you would end up by following one constellation or another. And yet tonight, with his head as empty of ideas as his stomach was of food, it felt as if there was hardly anything left but to chase a spirit tale.

Zuko closed his left eye so he could trace the curve of the strong, individual stars that made the Lion Turtle’s shell, the small cluster at its head, and the fuzz of tiny, far away lights just above its back that almost looked like an island forest obscured by morning fog. He pulled on the ostrich-horse’s reins and turned her in a new direction.

* * *

Zuko could feel the heat forming behind his eyes as he stormed away from the prison tower. He hadn’t wanted Uncle to tell him he had another potential destiny as the descendant of an Avatar. Now, more than ever, he felt torn between home and the position in his father’s regard he’d fought so hard to gain, and the part of him that had seen the wider world and found his old views childish and wanting.

Once he’d reached a reasonable distance from the building that he wouldn’t be easily spotted, Zuko found a flat spot obscured by an outcropping of stone and began to pace. Everything about him was restless and wound tight these days. Being home was supposed to be a relief, but it hadn’t felt anything like that at all.

The story about Sozin and Roku that Zuko had found had not been helpful. Uncle had not been helpful. He couldn’t ask Mai about any of this; she was loyal to Azula, and he couldn’t ask her to deal with his insecurities.  _ What prince of the Fire Nation, heir to the throne, doubts his country and his people? _

He hadn’t heard that sneering voice in his head in a long time; not since he was first on his ship, frightened and set an impossible mission. 

Thinking of those early days on the ship reminded him of one other person in his life who had been a teacher. Zhu Yan loved stories and history and tradition; maybe he would have some kind of insight. Zuko pushed down a cringe of guilt that he hadn’t sought any of his original crew members from before the explosion, other than knowing that Zhao had requisitioned them to other ships for the ill-fated Invasion of the North. The navy kept good records, he should be able to find that information easily now.

Zuko turned and headed towards the edge of the caldera instead of back to the palace. The naval headquarters were down the other side of the mountain, near the shore. His status should be enough to entitle him to the name and route of the ship Zhu Yan was stationed on. Then he could send a hawk explaining his troubles and maybe get some real advice. He chose not to acknowledge the fact that Zhu Yan had been just as known to answer a question with a cryptic story as Uncle was to do with a cryptic proverb.

He crested the lip of the stone formation and started down the switchbacks along the cliffside, pleased at the exertion after so many days of palanquin rides. The crunch of his footsteps found a rhythm with the rush of the waves further in the distance and the gulls calling overhead.

It was even easy enough to walk around once Zuko reached the military base. Wearing the nondescript clothing he usually did to visit the prison tower, he didn’t draw attention like he would in his royal robes. Sailors were businesslike, and they had better things to do than to try to see the face under his hood when the guards had already let him through the gate.

Zuko made his way towards the building where naval records would be kept, and lowered his hood as he approached the door. The man standing guard looked surprised to see him, but bowed and allowed him to pass. Inside was a small open space between rows and rows of shelves, with another officer at a writing desk who stood as Zuko entered.

“Prince Zuko,” the man said, showing no reaction to the sudden appearance of a member of the royal family at his desk as he bowed. “I am Corporal Iwao. How can I be of service?”

“Corporal, I am searching for a particular naval officer and the name of the ship he is currently serving on. A Lieutenant Zhu Yan. He was stationed with the fleet under Commander Zhao at the North Pole, last I was aware.” Zuko did his best to keep his disdain for Zhao off of his face.

“One moment, your highness,” Corporal Iwao told him and disappeared into the shelves with a bow.

He was gone for so long that by the time he returned, Zuko was sure he had memorized every inch of the small front area. Corporal Iwao was carrying a large scroll which he set out on the desk and began to unroll. Zuko tried to read the title at the top, hoping it would be the name of a ship he recognized. The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he recognized the characters for “casualties.”

The man studiously ran his finger down the list until he reached the name ‘Zhu Yan – deceased’ so that Zuko could see for himself. There were other characters which followed, detailing the campaign and date of death, but Zuko’s mind couldn’t absorb any of it. 

“My apologies your highness, but the officer in question was killed in action during the Siege of the North. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

“No, thank you,” Zuko said. He couldn’t feel the words on his lips, could hardly hear them as he spoke.

The walk back to the palace was one step and one step and one step, on and on, with hardly a thread of memory to connect each to the one before it. Zuko pushed open doors and barely registered the pressure against his skin, heard the bustle around him as if he was underwater. When he reached the hallway to his room, there was someone waiting for him just outside the door. He knew he should be upset about it, but trying to reach for the emotion only opened a yawning hole in its place.

“Zuzu, there you are! I was starting to get worried. Where have you been?” Azula said ‘worried’ like it was foreign word, and her expression was disinterested as she examined her nails.

This wasn’t the first time that Zuko just stared at his sister, unsure how to handle what this next game of hers would be. He didn’t even have space for normal thought, much less what it would take to keep up. 

“I went for a walk,” he finally said.

“Fairly long walk. Someone less trusting than me might not believe that.”

He didn’t feel anything as she spoke. Not even the parts of him that were always afraid of her. “Please go.”

“Is it so wrong to let my brother know that I care?” she asked, and then finally looked up. There must have been something in Zuko’s face that Azula wasn’t expecting, because surprise slipped out from beneath her perfect porcelain mask. Zuko could count the number of times he’d seen that happen on one hand, and if he had any capacity for it he would feel rather pleased with himself.

Azula examined him for a moment more and Zuko let her, standing still, feeling like the ability to even move was an ocean away. Finally, she let out a frustrated huff and turned to leave.

Zuko pushed open the final door, had only enough presence of mind to lock it behind him, and sank down onto his bed facing the open window. As the sun traveled across the sky, and shadows grew longer and then overtook the world, Zuko stayed in one place, only silence in his mind.

The next time he moved was out to his balcony after night had fallen. The air was heavy with humidity and heat, almost nothing like the cool sea breezes from the nights that he practiced navigation with Zhu Yan on deck. Zuko sat with his back to the railing, arms around his knees, and that is when the tears came. Silent and slow and unending, until every star above his head bled into one.

Zhu Yan had loved the Fire Nation. But in all the time Zuko had known him, he had never spoken about loving the war. He couldn’t remember either, if he had ever asked. But without anyone ever asking, and in fact against all Zuko’s protests, he had always shared how much he loved the fires in the sky, and stories that had been thought inconsequential for generations.

He had died for another man’s vanity. Zuko had seen first-hand the aftermath at the North Pole. There had been nothing gained there, no greatness the Fire Nation brought with them to bestow on the rest of the world.

He’d never hear Zhu Yan tell a story again.

How many other battlefields had been the same? He knew so many people now, too, with voices they would always miss. Would it be easier to count which battlefields had not left behind such pointless loss? 

He’d never see Zhu Yan smile for something so small as when Zuko would listen without complaint.

Zuko thought back on the history he had read, of how even the start of the war had been for pride and had left friends lost in its wake.

He’d never again stand together with Zhu Yan on a deck beneath the stars while the world stretched wide before them. Never get the chance to voice that he had started to hope that someday the world could look so wondrous to him too.

He wondered if perhaps that was his answer.

* * *

When Zuko left the Fire Nation palace after the Day of Black Sun, he was far more prepared than when he had left Uncle behind on the edges of the desert. Tucked away in the basket of his war balloon, he had plenty of rations, as well as an astrolabe, maps and star charts that he had lifted from the palace. Of the things Zuko had stolen in his life, these were marked firmly in the ‘do not regret’ category.

After a few hours of following the Avatar and his party at a safe distance, Zuko had a pretty good idea of where they were headed. Which was a good thing because by sunset his slower balloon had fallen considerably behind. He lost sight of them just after the last light left the sky.

Zuko checked that the fire in the furnace was still burning steadily and dug his navigation tools from his packs. There wasn’t much space to lay out a map in the bottom of the basket, but he made do as best as he could and crouched in the tiny amount of space that was left to start plotting a course towards the Western Air Temple.

It was ironic, Zuko thought, that the constellation which he followed tonight, the one who would lead him west, back to the first air temple he’d ever set foot in, was Siming. The stories described them as softly beautiful spirit, who lived in the golden clouds at sunset and gathered every drifting soul into their arms as the day came to a close and sheltered them until dawn when they would prepare to enter into life anew. Their constellation resembled a coiled fishing net. Zuko had never touched a fishing net in real life, or one woven by the spirits. If he chose to believe the stories, Zhu Yan had touched the net from the legend now.

Zuko took a long breath in, felt his fire rise up in his chest and released another blast of it into the furnace that was keeping him aloft. He did not know if this is truly what happened after death, that every lost soul was scooped into a fishing net in the sky at sunset. But Zhu Yan had believed, so for tonight at least Zuko chose to believe that his mentor had gotten one brief night to rest among the constellations that he had loved.

* * *

The sun was setting over the Western Air Temple. Dusk always made Zuko feel just a bit hazy, like he wanted to go curl up and savor the last patch of light like a pygmy-puma, and it had slowed Aang’s firebending energy significantly. They had just finished practice for the day and were sitting on a ledge of the temple, legs dangling down into open air, to watch the sunset.

Aang kicked his legs idly, languid little bits of breeze trailing off of his feet and making the mists below swirl. “Hey, this is probably a bit of a sensitive question, so feel free to not answer, but how did you do it? You know, keep firebending after...?”

“After what?” Zuko asked.

Aang wouldn’t meet his eyes, but waved a hand in the direction of his scar. Zuko’s back tensed and he drew in a breath to yell – He was a firebender,  _ the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation _ , how could he do any less? __ How could Aang imply he was so dishonorable as to turn his back on his bending, on his nation and heritage, on the brilliant light they were tasked to bring to the rest of the world? – And let the breath back out, sat on the impulse like Uncle was always telling him to do. Asked himself if those were his own thoughts, or just Ozai’s thoughts left in his head.

Which was probably even more the heart of what Uncle had wanted him to do. Zuko sent up a silent prayer to the spirits to let him tell Uncle someday that he was sorry for learning the lesson too late.

He said to Aang, “Work, lots of it. And not the kind of work you do by practicing firebending forms, but the kind of work that takes telling your heart over and over again that it doesn’t need to be afraid, even when it wants to be.”

“Wow,” Aang replied, “that’s pretty anticlimactic. Sounds like you just had to have a lot of patience.” He had a mock frown on his face that Zuko had learned meant good-natured teasing. So Zuko only elbowed him a little in the side while Aang dissolved into laughter.

“I have tons of patience! But, if you want something a little more exciting, just wait.”

“Okay. Whatever you say, Sifu Hotman.”

Zuko spared him an exaggerated eye roll as he turned back to watch the sun dip below the horizon and the sky grow steadily darker. Behind them he could hear the sounds of someone starting a fire and beginning to cook dinner, and some faint conversation. Beside him Aang was doing his level best to prove that he had plenty of patience, and only fidgeted a little.

Finally, when enough stars had come out, Zuko gestured overhead and said, “Every star up there is Agni’s brothers and sisters and siblings. The whole sky is full of fire, fire that we can’t touch or feel. But when we use the fire that Agni grants us, it’s as if we’re just a bit closer.”

“Wow,” Aang breathed out, looking suitably impressed.

“A good friend taught me all of the stories he knew. Would you like to hear them?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's gone on this journey with me, from betas and artists to readers! This was my first Big Bang, as well as the most writing I've done in a very long while, so all of your support has been tremendously appreciated. <3


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